


ok but who gon' pop me though?

by theformerone



Series: erik stevens, prince of wakanda [5]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF shuri, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 03:44:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14946954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theformerone/pseuds/theformerone
Summary: People tend to forget that Shuri is a princess of Wakanda. They assume that because she leads their technological advances, she knows nothing of combat. They assume she must be protected.They are wrong.





	ok but who gon' pop me though?

**Author's Note:**

> based heavily on the premise that Shuri's posture when M'Baku comes to challenge T'Challa is Very Relaxed for someone being called out, and based on the fact that only 2 Dora have their spears pointing at M'Baku while Ramonda and the Dora are effectively mom arming Shuri to keep her from, well... you'll see.

The supreme discomfort of the corset is at the forefront of her mind. Shuri is allowed to conceal the Black Panther habit into a necklace, to innovate jets that break the sound barrier several times over, to make a kimoyo bead that can behave exactly like a vertebrae when introduced to a damaged spine, but she has to stand out here, in this heat, for hours on end because tradition dictates. 

Shuri can appreciate tradition. She knows that there is great value in it. She knows the importance of why she is here today, why she has danced with her mother. Even why she is wearing all these damnable beads and that irritating little jaw necklace. 

She is the firstborn princess, and she has a part to play. But she's also sixteen and she is sweating in places she hadn't thought she was supposed to sweat. Like into the fine leather of the cursed corset, something its designer would not forgive her for. 

"Is there any of royal blood who wishes to challenge for the throne?" Zuri asks, sweeping his arm back at T'Challa. 

Shuri counts down from three. 

"I, N'Jadaka, son of N'Jobu of the Golden Tribe, will challenge today."

She doesn't roll her eyes, and not because her mother would pinch her if she did. 

Shuri isn't sure if it's a pride thing, the reason that makes N'Jadaka step forward. It would be very American of him if it were. He had less to prove now than he ever had. Still, he steps down into the water. 

The assembled Wakandans look on in varying shades of surprise. Nakia looks more exasperated than anything. W'Kabi's face is pinched, but Shuri is pretty sure that's because he's lost a bet with Okoye, who is grinning some distance away from them. 

Shuri just wants this whole challenge-ritual-combat ordeal to be over so she can put on something that doesn't constrict her breathing.  _Honestly_ for all the good Wakandans had done in terms of gender equity, this damned corset really was a thing of the Victorian past. What idiot War Dog had gone into jolly old England and decided  _this_ was what they should have brought back? Not stolen jewels or stolen property or stolen  _people_ but a garment specifically designed to make its wearer as physically uncomfortable as possible. 

She watches their fight with little interest. Shuri at least, has a good guess as to why her cousin has seen fit to challenge her brother for the throne. It might be pride, but N'Jadaka has been in Wakanda since he was young and refused to call himself anything other than Erik. He was a warrior priest like Ramonda, had spent time in the world outside of Wakanda with T'Challa. He had seen T'Chaka died, had helped hunt down his killer. 

He had kept T'Challa safe while he hunted for Zemo. 

So if he had anything to prove, it wasn't to their family. It wasn't to Nakia. It wasn't to Okoye, or W'Kabi. There was nothing for him to proclaim to the people who knew him best, to the ones that had seen him win and struggle in equal measure. He had long since earned the fealty of their people; he had healed their children, had laughed and played with them during festivals. 

To Shuri, it seemed as though he had this to prove to himself. That he was enough. That he and T'Challa, who were boys together, who had grown into men, were equals. 

Shuri can appreciate her cousin's emotional maturity. She doesn't appreciate being made a part of it. She could be sitting in air conditioning right now. But she isn't. Because N'Jadaka has a  _complex_. 

Their fight ends with N'Jadaka, spear to the soft skin of T'Challa's neck. And while Shuri can hear the moment when her mother holds her breath, hears the roar of the Wakandans assembled prickle with concern over their prince, Shuri can just narrowly see the crinkle between her older brother's eyebrows.

His panther mask had fallen off when he headbutted N'Jadaka somewhere in the middle of the fight. He seems, not puzzled, but perhaps a little annoyed at having lost. And though her cousin's fallen dreadlocks obscure his own face from vision, Shuri's about half sure he's smiling. 

She rolls her eyes. Typical. 

"I concede!" Erik shouts, loud enough for all amassed at the Falls to hear. He pulls back his spear away from T'Challa's throat, then takes a few steps back and drops it into the water.

"I concede the throne to T'Challa, son of T'Chaka."

"Big surprise there," she mutters, shifting her weight. 

"Shuri," her mother says, cutting her eyes to stare her down. 

Shuri bites the inside of her cheek and huffs out a breath. 

"Yes, mother."

N'Jadaka helps T'Challa stand, and the two of them exchange a hug. Her cousin leaves the water to trek back up to Ramonda's other side. Her mother welcomes him back with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. 

"You fought well," she says, congratulating him. "Though you know better than to enter a fight with your hair not securely tied."

N'Jadaka pushes his wet locks behind his shoulder, and gives a sheepish shrug. 

"I blame the mask," he says. 

Ramonda lifts an eyebrow at him. 

"There will be no masks to blame when an opponent less kind than your cousin grabs you by the head in a fight."

"Can we  _please_ move this along before I start swooning?" Shuri interrupts, arms folded across her chest. "This corset is really uncomfortable, so if we could all wrap this up - ,"

N'Jadaka lays his hand on top of her head and messes up her braids. Shuri ducks and dodges, slapping at his arm. It's clear she's making a display of herself. T'Challa looks on fondly; Zuri seems as exasperated as he ever is.

"Don't be such a brat," he says. "It's almost over. Nobody else is gonna - ,"

The harsh, staccato whoops of the mountain clan pierce through the caves leading out to the Falls. Shuri narrows her eyes at her cousin. 

"You were saying?" she asks. 

The assembled men come out into the sunlight, each of them swathed with white paint and attitudes worse than Shuri's. 

"The Jabari," Shuri mutters, more annoyed than she can possibly explain. "How typical."

"M'Baku," Zuri says, standing in front of the unmasked leader of the Jabari. "What are you doing here?"

M'Baku looks about as cocky as Shuri has been told he is. 

"It's Challenge Day," he replies. 

M'Baku looks at all of them, his captive audience. He's quite the showman, Shuri will give him credit for that. He's got everyone's attention, and he holds it. He is an outsider, but not an outsider, and he knows it. He's nearly the same as N'Jadaka when he first arrived in Wakanda; one of them, and yet not. 

Shuri has been told stories about the Jabari. Their ferocity, their groundedness, their long memory for any wrong done unto them. Clearly, her tutors forgot to tell her that they were drama queens as well

"We have watched and listened from the mountains."

He circles, and Shuri resists the urge to scoff. Anyone who had the audacity to sit back and watch to only come down from their perch after hundreds of years clearly was just waiting for something to upset them.

"We have watched with disgust as our technological advancements have been overseen by a child," he says, curling his lip, "who scoffs at tradition."

He looks at her, stopping near to where she is. Shuri narrows her eyes. She doesn't get the chance to take a step forward, because her Dora guard have caged her in with their spears, and her mother has thrown a hand in front of her. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but N'Jadaka beats her to it. 

"Man, you better watch the next word that comes outcha mouth about my cousin," he snaps, stepping just so in front of Shuri as he does. 

M'Baku scoffs, and takes a half step back to address the rest of the gathered Wakandans. 

"Your one prince is an _outsider_ ," he continues, spitting the word like it is poison, "and son of a traitor to our people."

N'Jadaka's nostrils flare, and it is only Ramonda's hand latching onto his wrist with a grip sharp enough to bruise that stops him from leaping over the spears of the Dora to attack M'Baku himself. 

M'Baku turns around, and stalks back towards Zuri and T'Challa, pointing at Shuri's brother as he goes.

"And now you want to hand the nation over to this prince who could not keep his own father safe. Hm? We will not have it!" he bellows. "I say we will not have it. I, M'Baku leader of the Jabari -,"

T'Challa has clearly taken all the insult he will stand today. He does not look angry. Only determined.

"I accept -,"

"Zuri!" 

M'Baku stops dead. T'Challa looks over M'Baku's shoulder at the interruption. Every last pair of eyes at the Falls is on Shuri.

"I, Shuri, secondborn of T'Chaka" she says, laying a hand on N'Jadaka's arm where her mother's fingers still hold him, "and daughter of Ramonda..."

Her cousin looks down at her, stunned. Ramonda looks just as surprised, and perhaps a tinge confused. She drops N'Jadaka's hand, and Shuri steps through the space that they have made to stand between them. 

Her Dora guard drops their spears, and Shuri walks, self assured and easy down into the cold water of the Falls. 

"Challenge my brother for the throne." 

There is silence. M'Baku narrows his eyes at her. But she is of royal blood, and her challenge supersedes his. She will fight T'Challa first, and M'Baku will challenge the winner. 

They do not hand her a mask. The jawbone hanging around her own chin is enough; where the men of the Golden Tribe had to become panthers through the habit and through the heart shaped herb, the women were born fierce as Baast. 

Their patron was a woman, and from women, the Golden Tribe drew their strength. 

Shuri stalks over to the stand where the weapons are held, brushing through the Jabari as she goes. They make way for her; though they do not respect her, they respect the old ways. She is still a princess. 

She chooses a kukri for her primary, and a spear and shield to match her brother's. She turns, and takes her time walking back to the clearing. 

Shuri stands in front of her brother, feet shoulder length apart, and she takes in one breath through her nose and out through her mouth. T'Challa looks vaguely worried, but more like he's onto her game than their mother is. 

"There are better ways to prove a point," he admonishes, sounding terribly like their father. 

She shrugs a shoulder. 

"Sometimes, it's best to do things the old fashioned way," she replies. 

T'Challa rolls his eyes. Shuri grins. Zuri stamps his spear into the hard rock of the Falls.

"Let the challenge begin!"

T'Challa is coolheaded in battle. While N'Jadaka was always decisive and eager to land the first blow, her brother preferred to let an enemy wear themselves out. It gave him time to figure out the best strategy to defeat them. 

T'Challa knows how Shuri fights; he has tutored her when she bothered to ask for his help, has corrected her form, and showed her how to throw people several times her size. How to use her slight stature to her advantage. The both of them are agile fighters, quick to leave harsh blows and duck out of the way to avoid retaliation. 

But Shuri cannot afford to fight like herself. So she fights like her mother. 

She lets out a roar that startles her brother, and in that split second of his surprise, she darts forward and slams her shield into his chest. It makes him stumble back, and while he tries to regain his footing, she hits him a second time. 

The Dora are fanned out around them, spears ready and pointed. T'Challa, physically stronger than her for his age and his experience, returns her blow. It sends her farther back than she sent him, and she narrowly turns to avoid spearing herself on one of her guard's weapons. 

Shuri narrows her eyes, twirling her kukri over her hand. The weapon has a short reach, meaning she needs to get in close and fast. She isn't playing to win, just to make the Jabari and their ridiculous leader regret ever calling her fealty to tradition into question. 

She doesn't want to draw blood, but knows that she must. It will be bad to leave her brother too weak to fight M'Baku when this is all said and done. 

T'Challa advances towards her and Shuri goes out to meet him. Her kukri meets his ida in a sharp screech of metal, but the sharp curve of her weapon gives Shuri a slight advantage. She uses it, knocking her brother's sword arm away to open up his chest for the kick she buries there. 

She doesn't stop because she can't afford to. She hammers T'Challa a second and third time, only dropping her foot to raise her sword when he raises his again. His arm is stronger than hers, but when he binds her kukri and knocks it out of her grasp, Shuri slams her shield into his face with all the force she can put behind her elbow. 

"Sorry about the concussion!" she shouts. 

"Please," T'Challa quips, taking a step back so she can't land another blow. "Save your apologies for mother. She needs them more than I do."

Shuri spares a glance to where her elegant mother, all in white, has her arms folded, looking on as they fight. N'Jadaka seems more likely to laugh than anything else. 

"You," T'Challa says, pulling her attention back to him, "are in so much trouble."

Shuri shrugs, removing her spear from its holster in her shield. 

"It wouldn't be a Wednesday if I wasn't."

T'Challa draws his spear and the both of them crouch. The Dora take another few steps forward, and Shuri can hear the roar of the drums, the roar of the Falls pounding in her ears. Her plan comes to her in sudden fits, with the water pooling around her legs, the current tugging her towards the edge of the Falls. She cannot fight like her mother. She must fight like herself.

She has to suck in another breath, and then another, breathing abruptly difficult in the corset. She frowns. She knows she cannot win if she is wearing this damnable thing. 

The two of them creep forward towards one another, and the Dora come in on all sides. T'Challa has been a good brother all her life, and she knows that he will not want to draw blood if he can help it. 

Shuri's counting on that much, and she's ecstatic when her brother proves her right. 

He slams his shield into hers so hard she falls onto her back. She loses her footing and her spear, but she keeps her shield up to obscure herself from view. Shuri stays down, holding her breath under the shallow water. 

She rips the beading around her shoulders right off their delicate traditional loops. The beads on her throat were the real valuable ones, each one carved by a former princess of Wakanda. The ones on her shoulders were carved by slightly less important people, though she knows her mother won't view it that way.

She gathers as many of the beads as she can into her fist. Then, Shuri pulls her shield just under the water until enough pools on its surface. She can hear the Dora step forward, can hear T'Challa approach her. 

"Shuri," she hears from below the water. "Concede. You have proved your point."

In the same moment, Shuri shoves her shield upward and throws out the beads. The water gets in T'Challa's eyes, and he takes a step back to prepare to defend another attack. His foot catches on the beads the water has carried towards him, and he goes down just the way she expected him to.

"How do you like the water, brother?" she asks, getting to her feet. 

She picks up her spear as she does, but her brother has the same idea. They are getting closer to the edge than Shuri is comfortable with, so she makes a big show of turning her spear over and under her arms, spinning it in wide, controlled arcs before she slams its butt into the water beneath her feet. 

"I concede to T'Challa, son of T'Chaka," she shouts. "Because he does not have to fight in a leather corset and I do!"

She hears a familiar cacophony of fond groaning, and her brother puts the head of his spear down to drag her into a one armed hug. 

"Make that the new tradition, why don't you," she says, looking from him to Zuri. "You'll see a lot more women becoming the panther in no time. The  men would not be able to handle it."

Zuri tuts, shaking his head, but he is like an uncle to her so she knows his disapproval is equal parts affection. 

"T'Challa son of T'Chaka has won," he announces. "Are there any other challengers?"

"If this farce is over," M'Baku says, stepping forward. "Then the leader of the Jabari will challenge your prince."

Shuri snorts. She pats her brother on the back and steps out of his embrace. She does not walk directly back to her mother and her cousin. Instead, she walks to M'Baku and stands directly in his path. 

"If you were so concerned about tradition," she drawls, "you would have kept yourself and your people in the mountains, where you love to hide."

M'Baku looks down at her, eyes narrowed. 

"So you are as disrespectful to your elders as you are to the old ways," he replies. 

Shuri lifts an eyebrow. 

"I am not being disrespectful," she says, tilting her head. "There is no one here who is worthy of my respect."

She smiles a Disney princess smile, the jaw around her throat echoing the expression with the utmost viciousness. 

"Enjoy losing to my brother," Shuri says. "That is a proud tradition, too, isn't it? The Jabari losing to the Golden Tribe."

She places her hands on her hips. She is aware that he will not harm her, not if he wants to lose a hand to the Dora and his legitimacy in front of representatives of the entire nation.

"The Jabari always did like to fight for something, only to decide they didn't want it when the Golden Tribe decided they did," she continues. "The cowardice of your people extends from the old vibranium conflicts to this very Challenge Day. A very proud tradition, indeed."

Shuri side steps him, and walks away without waiting to hear a retort. She catches Nakia's gaze and holds it before her eyes flicker to Okoye, to W'Kabi. She looks to the leaders of the merchant tribe, the plains tribe, the mining tribe; she looks at her grandparents, at her aunt, at the firstborn children of Wakanda.

"We in the Golden Tribe like to learn from our past," she says, addressing all present. "We innovate. We build upon our history because repeating it will lead us nowhere or into oblivion. We do not shun the old ways; we honor them by moving forward." 

The Dora guard around her mother and her cousin allow her back into the fold. Shuri stands between the two of them, and nods to Zuri. 

"The Jabari pride clinging to the old ways at the expense of the future," she says. "Watch them fail for their deliberate shortsightedness, as their precious tradition dictates."

M'Baku pulls on his ape mask. T'Challa's panther mask is long since decimated. Zuri calls the challenge to begin. 

Ramonda lays her hand across the back of Shuri's neck, and Shuri goes stock still. 

"Mother," she whines. 

"You have caused an incident," Ramonda says pristinely. 

Her hold on the back of Shuri's throat is loose, but it always was. Ramonda was a lion in all things, and picking up her children by the scruff was no exception. 

"The Jabari were already causing an incident," she replies, trying to defend herself. 

"Yeah, cuz," N'Jadaka says, eyes on where M'Baku attacks T'Challa. "You didn't have to do all that. Callin' his people cowards. We were all thinking it, but you didn't have to say it."

But the smile fighting its way onto his face tells Shuri all she really needs to know. Ramonda's hand on the back of her throat tugs her over, and Shuri's mother places a kiss on her daughter's forehead. 

"You did well today, Shuri," her mother says, and the nods of the Dora beside them affirm her. "I am proud of you, and your father would be as well."

Shuri beams, and returns a kiss to her mother's cheek. 

"Thank you, mother."

Ramonda nods and gives the back of Shuri's neck a light squeeze. 

"But we antagonize the Jabari enough," she continues. "Do not make a habit of it."

Shuri waits until her mother's gaze is on the fight to roll her eyes. If she couldn't cause minor political incidents then what was the point of being a princess?

"Yes, mother."

She gets pinched for her attitude anyway.


End file.
